by Nigel Price
They drove past the house and parked on the broad grass verge at the edge of the road. They walked back, checking the upper windows which were all they could see of the house over the top of the fence. The curtains were drawn. Harry ignored the front gate and continued round the perimeter. The ground behind it rose steeply to rejoin the hillside out of which the entire plot had been cut. He found a gate at the back with a host of rubbish and recycling bins of various colours, each announcing the category of contents permissible. There were also dire warnings of the consequences should items be separated incorrectly. An awful lot of things seemed to be ‘Streng Verboten’.
He tried the handle on the gate. It was locked. He peered through the crack between gate and post. Saw a padlock . He inspected the wood around the handle. The maintenance had been neglected. The owners had little incentive as regards upkeep beyond the basics. Harry guessed that all effort and expense had probably gone on the interior where it was more visible. After that, on the front of the property. The woodwork of the rear gate beside the bins was the last thing to receive a lick of wood preserver. While not rotten, it wasn’t in the best of health either. Harry set his shoulder to it. Keeping a firm grip on the handle, he gave it one sharp shove. The padlock held firm, the screws fixing the latch to the thin wooden planks didn’t. They tore free. Steadying the gate before it could make a noise, he slowly pushed it open and peered round the side.
“Anything?”
“The Colonel’s been doing his washing.” He widened the crack to reveal a laden washing line that masked them from the rear of the house.
“Nice whites,” Ingrid observed. “Wonder what powder he uses?”
Harry considered her. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
She was looking more closely. “That’s not all man stuff, either.”
Harry checked. “Well spotted. Bugger.”
“Do we switch back to Plan A? The yacht club?”
“We’re here now. Just be prepared for there to be others in the house.”
He led the way into the garden, pushing the gate shut behind them. He wedged it into the frame so it would look undisturbed to a casual observer. Peeling a way through the washing, he reached the far side of it and spotted a back door. A window at the side of it showed the wall units, working top, cupboards and oven of a kitchen. There was no one in it. It was half eight. Surely the Colonel would be up by now?
“Must be in another room.”
“What if there’s no one home?” Ingrid asked.
“Then we still have time to get to the yacht club for the RV. And also time to break in and see what we can find.”
“Alarm?”
“One thing at a time. He might be upstairs, in the dining room, having a crap, anywhere.”
Keeping his eyes on the interior of the kitchen, Harry moved towards the door. He took the handle in his fist and tried it. Locked. He wasn’t surprised. A quick check of the whole rear of the house showed all the windows to be shut except one on the upper floor. Frosted glass and steam coming from it told him all he needed.
The next moment there was a figure in the kitchen. Harry dodged aside, pulling Ingrid down with him. He tensed for a shout, a shot, something.
Seconds went by and the peace and birdsong of the garden was undisturbed. Tentatively Harry rose up and peered inside. Where the kitchen’s inner door opened into what looked like a large hallway, the figure of a man was visible, his back to Harry. He was in running kit and was drinking from a glass.
“Seems the Colonel’s running a bath to freshen up after some exercise.” The figure was that of a tall, thin man with the stringy physique of a long distance runner. His hair was cut short, with the first hints of grey showing through.
“Should we wait until he’s in the bath and then break in?”
Harry thought about it. It wasn’t a bad idea. But breaking in would involve noise. Smashed glass. Who was to say the Colonel didn’t keep a gun upstairs? Considering what he was involved in it was a dead cert. He would have time to get to it. He might be stark bollock naked, but that wouldn’t prevent him from shooting straight.
“Here goes,” Harry said, and started round the side of the house towards the front door. Where there were windows, he ducked under them. Ingrid did the same. No point alerting the Colonel sooner than they had to.
They came to the main entrance. As far as Harry could see there were no security cameras.
“What are you going to say?” Ingrid asked.
“We could tell him we’re Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
“You can’t be serious?” His face gave the answer. “Oh. Okay.”
He put his finger to the bell and pressed it. Inside he heard the result, a kitschy little electronic jingle. He could imagine it probably drove a military man like the Colonel mad each time he heard it. All the better. He pressed it again.
“I’m coming!”
Harry pressed it again, just for the laughs.
“I said I’m coming!” boomed the response, reinforced by less audible curses that Harry could guess at.
There was the sound of locks and chains being undone. If the Colonel had already been out that morning for a run, Harry was interested that he had taken such care to lock himself in so thoroughly on return. Perhaps he would have a gun in his fist when he opened it.
He didn’t. Just the glass of water that Harry had seen him drinking from.
He stood in his stocking feet and running kit, staring out at them, his lean face scarlet from either the exercise or Harry’s fun with the bell button.
“Yes?”
“Can I interest you in this month’s edition of The Watchtower?” Harry asked. “It has full colour illustrations to help you appreciate the coming of Jehovah’s Kingdom.”
The Colonel looked from one to the other. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Am I speaking to Colonel Franklin?”
“Yes.”
“Hallelujah, brother,” Harry said. And punched him in the face.
Twenty Six
As the Colonel went down, Harry caught him. The body seemed to deflate, muscles going limp and sinking gently to the polished wooden floor. There was some blood from the nose. Harry had got everything just right. Range, point of aim, degree of force. It all came together and he felt quite pleased with himself.
They closed the door behind them and locked it as thoroughly as the Colonel had done. Harry dragged the body into the sitting room and dumped it on a sofa. “Keep an eye on him,” he said, hurrying from the room.
“Where are you going?”
He noted the panic in Ingrid’s voice. “Don’t worry. He’ll be out for at least a couple of minutes.”
Shooting from room to room, he did a rapid check of the house to see if anyone else was home. There was a locked door down to a cellar, but the key was on the outside, so no one down there. Just the usual German subterranean laundry room, a tank for oil-fired central heating, food storage and the like.
On the upper floor, he did the same again. No one. The Colonel lived alone and didn’t have company at that moment. Apart from the two recent arrivals. In the bathroom Harry nipped across to the tub and turned off the tap. Steam rose invitingly. It was more than half full.
Downstairs again, he took over from Ingrid. “There’s no great rush now,” he said. “There’s a filled bath upstairs. Why don’t you use it?”
“Is that your way of telling me I smell?”
“Like a trucker.”
When she had gone, he did a search for bindings. Remembering the plastic ties in the car, he checked on the Colonel to ensure he was out cold – he was – then shot out to retrieve some, using the kitchen door which was quicker to unlock. By the time he got back there were the first stirrings of life from the Colonel. His nose had stopped bleeding and groans came from him like a zombie preparing to rise up and lumber stiff-legged into the village.
Unlike with the beefier lugs back in the forest, Harry used only two ties on the wrists
and two on the ankles. He was happy to leave the Colonel’s arms in front of him where he could see them.
While the process of coming-to slowly continued, he went through to the kitchen and checked the cupboards. Although he and Ingrid had already breakfasted, he set up the coffee machine and hit the On button.
Eggs were in the fridge, so on a whim he scrambled half a dozen. Bread in the toaster. A pack of smoked salmon also in the fridge provided the perfect side order.
Back in the sitting room, the Colonel’s eyes were blinking open. There were two monstrous queries in them. Who the fuck are you? What the hell is happening?
Harry was going to be happy to oblige on both counts.
He emptied half the mess from the pan onto a plate for himself and covered the rest to keep it warm for Ingrid after her bath. Noises of splashing water overhead told him that she might be some time.
A cup of hot coffee was aching to be poured so when he rejoined the Colonel he was carrying a tray with his second breakfast which looked considerably more inviting than the first.
“Good morning, Colonel,” he said brightly, taking a seat opposite his host.
Colonel Franklin was coming round. His eyes were blinking to focus on the hateful figure sitting smug and self-satisfied across the room.
“I can guess who you are.” His speech thick and slurred as he completed his ascent from oblivion.
Harry smiled and scooped a forkful of scrambled egg into his mouth.
“I might have known those two jerks would mess it up.” He spat blood that had found its way from nose to mouth. It sat in a neat gobbet on the cream-coloured carpet.
“Should have used some of my old guys.” He screwed up his eyes and peered at Harry, his contempt plain. “They’ll be on to you soon enough.”
Harry ate, silent. He took a swig of his coffee. Then the toast and smoked salmon.
“Well, what do you want?”
“Nothing,” Harry said between mouthfuls. “Just keep talking. You’re already telling me everything I want to know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve confirmed the story your two jerks told us. You are who they said you were. And your business is what they said it is.”
“Fuck you.”
“There you go again. No denials, no attempt to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, blah,blah, blah. You’ve confirmed you had the two lugs try and kill my friend and me, which sort of confirms all the rest.”
“What rest?”
Harry drank more coffee. “Too late to back-peddle now. The whole game you’re engaged in. Together with Heinz Gutman and the others.”
Colonel Franklin glared at him, lips clenched.
“That is what you are up to, isn’t it?” Harry said. “Smuggling in art treasures and antiquities from the smashed and ruined parts of the Middle East?”
“Who told you that?”
“Your men did. They told me all they knew. After a bit of encouragement.”
The Colonel sneered. “They didn’t know anything.”
“Oh you’d be surprised. And then there was Ernst, my police friend who handed me over to them. Had quite a long chat with him on the drive to the RV. He’d assumed your guys were going to make a clean job of it, so he told me everything he knew. Gloating, I suppose.”
A shadow crossed the Colonel’s face. “If you know so much, why did you bother coming here?”
“Housekeeping, if you like. You were just the next in line.”
“So now what? Are you going to kill me?” He laughed. His expression hardened. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“That’s exactly what Ernst said.”
“Well it’s true.”
“Heinz Gutman,” Harry said.
The Colonel was evaluating his captor. A smile slowly blossomed that Harry didn’t like. “Thank you,” Franklin said at last.
“For?”
“Now it’s your turn to tell me stuff without meaning to. You don’t know so much after all. If you think this stops with Gutman you’re in for some very nasty surprises. Except you’re not going to live that long.”
An image of Skoda Man’s ID card flashed in Harry’s brain. The BKA. Germany’s FBI. What if those two weren’t rogue agents? What if it was broader? His smoked salmon had lost its appeal. He put the tray aside. Overhead he could hear Ingrid humming.
He called upstairs. “Don’t let the bath water go.” He got up and stood over the Colonel.
Ingrid appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a bath robe. “Why? You’re not going to use it too?”
“No. But the Colonel is.”
He reached down, grabbed the Colonel by the wrists and pulled him to his feet. They were eye to eye but Harry had the bulk. The Colonel was doing his best to hold on to his defiance. He tried to gain height. Instead he found himself being dragged across the hall and up the stairs. He tried to hop and failed.
“Get off, damn you! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Ingrid was finishing dressing after her bath. She came out when she heard the noise to see what was going on.
“Can you leave us alone, please?” Harry said. He had got the Colonel to the top and was hauling him through the bathroom door. Ingrid was pushed aside.
“Harry, what—?”
“Please. Go downstairs. There’s eggs in the pan. This won’t take long.” Using a foot, he slammed the door behind him. The colour had drained from the Colonel’s face.
Harry sat him on the edge of the bath. The water had turned a milky colour from the soap. It would do perfectly.
Harry leaned over his captive. “How does it work?”
“How does what work? I don’t know what you mean.”
Which was the wrong answer. The next thing the Colonel knew, he was face down in the water, his head held firmly beneath the surface. He kicked and bucked against the vice-like grip.
A moment later he was gulping air again. Deep, panicked gasps although he had only been seconds under water.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Harry said, his voice level and calm.
The Colonel shook the water from his eyes. His rank had vanished. There had always been others to dish out the violence for him. And he had never been on the receiving end. In seconds his authority had been smashed.
“It’s just as you guessed,” he blurted, unable to get the words out fast enough. “We have people throughout the Middle East. Wherever there are American forces and the local rule of law has broken down, we acquire … what? … exhibits, say. Things of value that people in the West will pay for.”
The next moment he was under the water again, legs thrashing but fixed at the ankles by the ties. His arms tried to push himself up and out of the bath, but Harry had him firmly under the surface.
Then air again, and light.
“What the fuck was that for?” the Colonel spluttered. “I was fucking telling you everything!”
“I know. I just felt like it,” Harry said. Randomness. Unpredictability. Great for racking up the terror. The Colonel would have to talk faster. Which he did.
“I hand-pick people I can trust. People in the logistics chain. It only takes a handful, so long as they’re in the right places. That’s what I do well.”
“I bet you do,” Harry said. He gave a slight jerk to his prisoner who convulsed in preparation for another submersion, which didn’t come.
“Wait!” the Colonel shouted. “God damn it, wait! I’m telling you! We bring the items into Istanbul from all over – Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan. We’re just expanding into Libya.”
“You make it sound like Starbucks.”
“Fuck, it’s way bigger than that shit.” In spite of his torment half under the bath water, there was pride in his voice. Awe at what had been achieved. Harry was tempted to knock it out of him with another dunking, but the Colonel carried on quickly, sensing Harry’s mood. “Stuff from Afghanistan comes out of Bagram in C130’s. Across to Istanbu
l. That’s where we cross-load. Portland Aviation takes it from there.”
“Who do you have in Istanbul?”
The Colonel managed a smile. Pride in his work again. “We’ve got people there in the Customs department. You can hire anyone for the right price. That’s why we picked Istanbul.”
“The historic meeting place of East and West. Nice.”
“The stuff flies from there into Soest Erwitte which Gutman has sown up tighter than …” He scrabbled around for a suitable metaphor but Harry got the point. So dunked him again for good measure. And because he could feel the Colonel’s spirit recovering.
A few seconds was all it took before the Colonel was coughing and cursing again. “Fuck, man, let me speak!”
“Go on.”
“That’s about it. Gutman takes it from there.” He spat out Ingrid’s bath water and a hair that had got into his mouth.
“And you have records of all this? Here?”
“Don’t be st—” He stopped himself just in time, his face inches above the milky surface. “No. Course not. We don’t keep records of anything. And certainly not here, for fuck’s sake. Gutman might. I don’t know. But I sure as hell don’t.”
“What about manifests? Documentation? There must be something?”
The Colonel managed a chuckle. “Nothing. Just innocent descriptions of fake imports. Carpets. Furniture. Stuff like that.”
“And because the customs people in all the right places are in Gutman’s pay—”
“You got it. It’s all waved through. Money changes hands – strictly cash only – and the deal’s done. Cash means there’s no—”
“Yes. I understand how cash works, thank you,” Harry said. “Who buys all this stuff?”
“All kinds of people.” The Colonel’s face was brushing the surface of the water. He tried to pull back but Harry held him in place. “You have no idea. The kind of people who have more money than you or I ever imagined.”
“I can imagine quite a lot actually.”
“And they’re the sort of people who will crush you and your girlfriend without even breaking a sweat. You’ve no idea—”
